e was looking.

At their very feet lay the mighty Mississippi. They had seen it before,
but it was never so impressive as now. Great at any time it was in spring
flood, rolling a vast, yellow current down toward the Gulf. The waters
overflowed on the low, eastern shore, and it was so far across that they
could not see the further bank in the shadowed evening. The setting sun,
nevertheless, lighted up the middle of the current with blood-red gleams,
and the five gazed with a certain awe at the mighty stream, as it flowed
ever onward. It was the highly imaginative Paul who was impressed the
most.

"We know where it goes to," he said, "but I wonder where it comes from."

Henry waved his hand vaguely toward the North.

"Up there somewhere," he said, "a thousand miles from here, or maybe two
thousand. Nobody can tell."

Paul did not say anything more, but continued to gaze at the vast, yellow
current of the Mississippi, coming out of the unknown regions of the far
north and flowing into lands of the far south, almost as mysterious and,
vague, once belonging to France but now owning the lordship of Spain. It
was the homely language of Shif'less Sol that recalled him from his
dreams.

"It's purty big out thar, an' looks ez if you couldn't tamper with
it--this here river stands no foolin'--but do you know, Paul, water's
pow'ful friendly. It's always travelin' about, always on the move. Land
stands still, it's always thar, an' never sees nothin' new, but water
jest keeps a' movin', seein' new countries, here to-day, somewhar else
to-morrow, lavin' new banks, breathin' new air, floatin' peacefully on to
new people, gatherin' in their talk an' ways.

"Jest think! This river comes out o' we don't know whar, sees all the
wilderness, whispers to the bars and buffaloes an' Injun tribes ez it goes
by, takes a look at us standin' here on the bank, an', after wonderin'
what we're about, slips on down hundreds o' miles to Louisianny, gazin' at
the French thar on the bank at New Orleans, an' then shoots out into the
sea."

"Thar to be lost," said the unpoetical Long Jim.

"Not to be lost, never to be lost, Jim," said Shif'less Sol earnestly.
"That Missip. water is still thar in the sea, an' it goes slippin' an'
slidin' along with the salt clean to all them old continents. It takes a
look in at England, that's fightin' us in the East, an' if the English
could understand the water's language it might tell 'em a lot o' things
that